


A perfect excuse

by vespero



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clexmas, Day3: let it snow, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, day11: under the mistletoe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespero/pseuds/vespero
Summary: Lexa and Clarke are colleagues that can't stand each other. Too bad that Clakre looses a bet at the annual Christmas party and has to cook a homemade dinner to Lexa.





	A perfect excuse

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: happy chrstimas and happy new year! I wrote this story in just a few hours and is unbetad so all of the mistakes are mine, but I wanted to deliver it to you as soon as possible, in order to sill be figuratively in the chrstimas and Clexmas spirit.

> Lexa combs her hair, looking critically at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. She sighs, puts some more eyeliner and fixes her lipstick. She can’t believe she is really going to leave her warm place and the barely begun book on her nightstand, to go to no other than Clarke Griffin’s apartment for dinner.

 

_Anya was going to pay for framing her into this._

 

She puts on her heels and takes one last look at herself. Not bad, objectively speaking. A bit up tight maybe, considering it’s supposed to be an informal dinner between two colleagues. _Just the two of them._

 

Except, she can’t stand the fellow lawyer and the sentiment is strongly reciprocated.

 

Lexa ignites her car, after checking again that the fancy bottle of wine and the tiramisu she picked from one of the best italian restaurants in Manhattan are on the backseat.

 

Maybe she isn’t in the mood to spend the most awkward dinner of all times, but she knows her manners and isn’t going to show up empty handed, especially at the door of someone that already finds every reason to hate her.

 

She checks her phone again to read Clarke’s message with her address and puts it in the gps. It’s only one sentence: **7 pm, don’t be late.** She didn’t even bother to reply with more than an “ok”.

 

All of this is all Clarke’s fault, really. That woman is too competitive for her own good and doesn’t know when to shut up: she even tried to warn her but no, she had to take Anya’s stupid bet and lose.

 

They were playing a board game, dressed in ugly red Christmas sweaters around an office desk and Lexa was beyond stressed for a deadline anticipated to the 31st of December. So, it was only fair for her to put some effort at least in making her team win.

 

While driving, Lexa makes the mental note to never let herself be dragged to a Christmas party at her office again. Ever.

 

This year, she went just because Anya insisted, saying that if one of the associates wasn’t going to show up, it would have given the wrong impression to the older partners. The result was that she had to face Clarke Griffin, alias her professional nemesis, alias the blonde and likeable version of herself that charmed everybody from the first time she entered the firm.

 

And by facing, she means playing against her in some kind of Millionaire board game. Their teams decided to fuel their rivalry by making them compete, one question after the other. She should have immediately detected Anya’s ambush.

 

Lexa parks in front of a nice building, checks her phone again to be sure she is in the right place and retrieves wine and dessert, just in time to see the first small flock of snow. _One more reason to keep the dinner short._

 

“Third floor”, Clarke’s metallic voice says, after she rings the bell. She climbs the stairs, not quite ready to meet Clarke outside the office environment and even less ready to find out how displeased she is at spending the night after Christmas with a colleague she openly despises.

 

Lexa tightens her jaw: it isn’t her fault she enjoys sea documentaries and knows squids have two tentacles and eight arms. The fact that the one million question was about squids and that the right answer was “two” and not “eight” is not her fault, either. In all truth, this mess was entirely on the blond lawyer: she is the one that underestimated her and accepted Anya’s bet about cooking Lexa a homemade dinner if she answered correctly.

 

Lexa is in front of Clarke’s apartment as soon as the door is opened.

 

“Hello”, she barely has time to say, before seeing her colleague’s scorned expression and her apron covered in something that looks like sauce.

 

“Hi. You’re early”, Clarke says, before making room for her to enter the apartment.

 

Lexa takes two tentative steps inside, already uncomfortable. “I’m not, it’s 7 sharp”, she said in a plain tone, not ready to start their constant bickering.

 

 _Why are they doing it?_ She knows how much Clarke can’t stand her (she even overheard the blonde call her an emotionless robot while talking with Octavia, one of the paralegals) and that’s why she offered to lie for her and pretend with Anya they actually had dinner.

Clarke gave her an even harder look and told her that she always honours bets.

 

Lexa looks around discreetly, taking in the cozy living room and all the small details she can easily connect with Clarke: from her coat hanged to her distinctive perfume. The table is already set with two dishes over a nice white tablecloth. There’s also a candle, but at the side of the table, as if someone forgot to remove it.

 

Over a chair there’s a pile of documents and a laptop, sign that Clarke brought work home even during the holidays. Lexa can’t stop from thinking of her own pile of documents still occupying her dining table.

 

“I...I brought dessert and a bottle of wine”, she tried, showing the small package and the bottle as a mute peace offering. The gesture seems to ease Clarke and even surprise her.

 

“Thanks”, Clarke says it almost shyly, as if she finally realizes her guest is still in her coat on the threshold. She takes everything from her hands and adds “You can hang your coat there”, pointing at the entrance.

 

Lexa silently complies letting out a deep breath she doesn’t know she’s keeping, as Clarke leaves for the kitchen. She then approaches the new room, taking in the blonde lawyer as she’s stirring some kind of sauce in a pot with a frown.

 

The scent is not exactly inviting, but Lexa is to intent in staring at Clarke: it’s probably the first time she sees her in jeans and she looks even younger. Blonde hair is up in a loose chiffon and the dirty apron covers a gray sweater that looks warm. Overall infuriating, in her effortless beauty.

 

“Do you maybe need a hand?”, she approaches, leaving a good amount of space between them not to startle her. She can almost feel Clarke’s tension and, for the second time since her, arrival she feels out of place.

 

Clarke turns with the wooden spoon still in hand, staining the stove with a few drops of sauce. “No, it’s almost ready”. She tries to sound sure by using her professional voice and Lexa decides not to comment on the fact that, by the smell of it, something is definitely burning in the pot. Clarke seems to notice it too and starts to stir the content again, “...but you can open the wine, I suppose. Corkscrew is in the first drawer, glasses over there”

 

Lexa silently complies, moving around as cautiously as she can. The kitchen is simple but practical, the fridge covered of stickers and with a timetable fixed with a Giants magnet. Lexa almost smiles, thinking that at least they have something in common.

 

She serves herself and Clarke a generous amount of the expensive white Chardonnay she brought and moves to give the glass to her hostess, that is now kneeled and looks suspiciously in the oven.

 

“You didn’t need to go through all this trouble”, Lexa tries again.

 

Anya made her bet to cook Lexa a homemade dinner, knowing Clarke was artistic and could do great ornaments (such as the ones Lexa noticed in her office for Christmas) but not a fan of any manual activity such as cooking.

 

Clarke stands up and turns then takes the glass carefully avoiding touching her hands. “I bet a homemade dinner, remember?”, she retorts.

 

The atmosphere is tense and Lexa can’t help but feel like an intruder in that warm kitchen. This is a bad idea and she truly doesn’t know why she let Anya frame her into this: she should have just said she was busy and procrastinate the thing until it was forgotten. And it isn’t fair to Clarke either: sure, they despise each other but Lexa understands how uncomfortable the blonde must feel by having her in her personal space.

 

Lexa puts her still full glass on the kitchen counter and crosses her hands behind her back. “Thank you again for your invitation, but all of this is really not necessary. I’m sorry for this invasion of your privacy Clarke, I’m going to see myself out”

 

She turns to go retrieve her coat and leave the apartment. She’s not used to impose her presence and isn’t going to start now just to fulfill Anya’s fantasy that opposites attract. She knows her best friend and the hidden purpose of the bet. Lexa is almost out of the apartment when Clarke calls her.

 

“Wait”

 

She turns to see Clarke, laying crossed arms on the wall and looking almost sorry.

 

“It’s fine Clarke, I’m going to tell Anya the dinner was delicious”

 

The blonde rolls her eyes. “Since when are you so nice?”

 

Lexa feels a rush of anger. “I’m going Clarke, what the hell do you want me to do? And for God’s sake put that tiramisu in the fridge, it’s supposed to be eaten cold”

 

Clarke smirked, “Here’s the asshole I know and dispise”

 

Lexa closes her coat: she’s not going to stay there and be insulted by some self-centered blonde that considers her the epitome of what’s wrong on earth. “Listen Griffin, I’m tired and really not in the mood to fight with you outside the office so please can we just forget I’ve been here?”

 

She takes the blonde’s silence as a yes and leaves the apartment, nervously playing with the keys of her car until she’s out in the open.

 

_Fuck._

 

A thick layer of snow already covers her car and the parking lot, as big snowflakes are falling from the sky. She opens her car and turns on the engine, trying without success to clean the snow from the front window with the windscreen wipers. After a few attempts, Lexa is able to gain some visual and carefully starts the car. She doesn’t have winter tires and knows she has to put the snow chains if the streets are too slippery.

 

She succeeds to move a few feet, when she feels the car lose grip.

 

_Fuck again._

 

She cannot risk an accident, so there’s no other way but to go outside in her heels and elegant coat and pray to be able to put on the snowchains without dying of hypothermia first. Lexa curses herself for being this idiotic: dressing up and trying to look nice for Clarke Griffin.

 

Flakes are stubbornly falling and her hair is almost white by the time she retrieves the snow chains from her trunk, with already frozen hands.

 

Until flakes aren’t falling anymore: Clarke is there, with a thick jacket and an gigantic umbrella that easily covers both of them.

 

“You don’t have the right jacket to be outside”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes and moves from under the umbrella. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Lexa, come inside”, Clarke’s voice is imperative but she’s still following her around to attempt to cover her again with the umbrella.

 

“Go back home”

 

A gloved hand grabs her wrist and makes her turn. “Please”, she says it almost shyly and Lexa is taken aback by this sudden change.

 

“It really is fine Clarke, I just need a minute to put these on and I’ll be all set to go”

 

Clarke takes the snow chains from her hands and throws them in the truck, before moving her to close it, leaving Lexa stunned. “You’re already drenched and the streets are going to be a nightmare. Please, dinner’s ready”. The blonde doesn’t let go of her wrist and gently pulls her to the door and back to her apartment.

 

She doesn’t actually put up much of a fight: rationally Clarke is right and chances are, streets are going to be clean in a couple of hours.

 

Lexa is overwhelmed by the warmth inside the apartment. Her hair is sticky from the snow and she barely feels her feet. This time around she foregoes any pleasantry and just tosses her wet coat on the nearest hang.

 

“You should take your shoes off too”, Clarke’s already back in the kitchen and Lexa just peels off her heels and puts them next to the door before following her.

 

“Here”. Clarke passes her her untouched glass of wine, already hers in hand. Lexa takes it and finally looks at the blonde.

 

“Happy late Christmas”, she just says awkwardly, before drinking. For the first time that night, Clarke laughs.

 

“Happy late Christmas to you too, Woods”

 

It’s a quiet affair after that. The tension is broken and Lexa tries to make small talk the best she can: nothing work related or personal, just something about how the weather is strange this year and how they both like the city all festive. It’s stiff and it’s strange, but Lexa appreciates the effort she’s sure Clarke’s making to be more pleasant. She actually still doesn’t know why the blonde despises her so much, but she’s certainly not going to ask tonight. Clarke is entitled to like or not like whom she wants and Lexa is not someone keen on making people like her. Work is work, loyalty and professionalism are enough and she never doubted Clarke is very invested in the firm they work for.

 

After a few more minutes of Clarke rummaging through drawers in search of some kind of knife, Lexa decides to move to the living room to give her some space. She sits, bringing their two glasses, and patiently waits for the bonde to serve whatever is in the oven.

 

“Listen, I don’t really know how this is but it’s the best I could do”. Clarke puts on the table a baking tin with half a chicken covered it with some kind of reddish sauce.

 

“I’m sure it’s delicious”, Lexa immediately replies, even if she looks suspiciously at what’s inside the tin. She’s a guest, after all.

 

Clarke chuckles, “Liar. Give me your plate”

 

After Clarke served a generous portion of it to both of them, Lexa cautiously cuts a small piece of meat. The scent is less than appealing but chicken is chicken, she supposes. She feels Clarke’s expectant eyes on her and almost smiles at the thought that someone who cares so little about her opinion in general is now waiting for her response over meat.

 

Lexa chews, then just resolves in swallowing the bite. “It’s...good”

 

It’s Clarke’s turn to taste the dish, looking reassured by Lexa’s reaction. Her face contorts in a grimace and she immediately swallows the piece of chicken, drinking half her glass of wine after it. “Oh my God that’s disgusting Lexa!”

 

Clarke looks at her and at the tin with a betrayed expression and Lexa is not sure if she’s now angry at her for lying or at the chicken for being uneatable. The lawyer can’t avoid a small laugh. It is indeed disgusting but she can’t help but find Clarke’s scorned expression quite cute.

 

Someone has to act and Lexa is hungry, so she just resolves in standing up, taking the chicken with her to the kitchen, once again twitching her nose at the smell of it. God, Clarke surely has some qualities, but cooking is not one of her strong suits. She just prays she’s not possessive towards her kitchen.

 

“What the hell are you doing with my chicken?”

 

“I’m throwing it away”. Lexa examines the pans still on the stove and takes a look at her surroundings: this can still be savaged. She puts on Clarke’s discarded apron and opens the fridge to find what she’s looking for: a small can of tomato sauce, probably the same Clarke used for the chicken sauce. Good.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”, Clarke looks at her incredulously, while Lexa continues moving in her kitchen as if it’s her own.

 

“I’m hungry, so I’m making us dinner”

 

“We can order something from…”, Clarke tries, just to be blocked by a fork that Lexa points at the window, while putting the tomato sauce in a pan.

 

“It’s snowing too much, nobody’s going to bring us anything at least until tomorrow”

 

Clarke crosses her arms, disbelievingly. “So what, you’re going to cook?”

 

Lexa opens the cupboard to retrieve a box of spaghetti that looks quite old and checks for the expiration date before opening it.

 

“Yes, could you bring me my wine please?”

 

For the time she spends cooking in Clarke’s kitchen, it almost feels domestic. Lexa’s stirring the sauce in the pan and Clarke cautiously looks at her, sipping her wine. It’s almost natural to start talking about what they did on Christmas and Lexa tells her of the lunch with her family and how she loves to spoil Aden, her nephew. Clarke, on the other hand, describes how their parents still organize a big gathering with all of the family in their big house in the countryside.

 

In half an hour they are seated again, a bowl of steaming spaghetti with tomato sauce at the centre of the table and a second bottle of wine between them. Clarke finishes it silently not even trying to deny how good they are, then moves to serve herself another portion, unaware of the amused look of Lexa.

 

“Not bad uh?”

 

The blonde rolls her eyes but puts more spaghetti in her plate nonetheless, while Lexa proceeds to serve her some more wine.

 

“It is technically my spaghetti”

 

“Lucky you, your date was able to cook them then”, Lexa stopped immediately: the word just slipped from her mouth and now it’s too late.

 

“Lexa Woods, are you implying this is a legitimate date?”, Clarke feigned stupor, smirking at her.

 

Lexa rolled her eyes but decides to go on with the joke: “I brought wine, you put a candle on the table. It sounds like a date to me Griffin”

 

“I didn’t put a candle on the table! It was in the gift box from my grandma and I inadvertently left it here”

 

Lexa doesn’t know what possesses her when she grabs a box of matches and simply lights the candle, moving the bowl of spaghetti to put it between them. The light of the flame sends warm reflexes on Clarke’s face and makes her eyes shine, now full of curiosity.

 

“Who are you and what did you do with Lexa Woods, my bitchy colleague from litigation?”

 

It is Lexa’s turn to laugh. “Maybe she’s less bitchy than you think”

 

“I highly doubt that. Look at what she did during Christmas party!”

 

Lexa frowns, taken aback. “What did I do?”. She doesn’t remember doing anything but standing awkwardly in the middle of the room in a terrible sweater, watching her secretary and half of her office dancing to some Nineties classics.

 

“God, you don’t even realize it...You stood there, hawking at everybody like you thought we were all morons and refused to dance with Echo without even finding a good excuse to let her go gently. I spent half an hour in the bathroom with her”

 

_Oh._

 

Lexa finally remembers when the other associate came to ask her to dance. Which was a stupid idea and she told her so: did Echo really think she was going to embarrass herself in front of everyone? She remembers Anya’s amused expression and the fact that Echo disappeared for the rest of the evening.

 

“Yes, you and your little friend Anya can be real bitches. Echo tried to ask you out like a million times and just when she finds the courage to approach you, your answer is ‘are you out of your mind?’. God!”

 

“So you’re angry I inadvertently turned down your friend?”

 

“No, I’m angry because you think you’re better than us and don’t even try to mask it”

 

“I’m doing my job Clarke, which is to win cases and not date colleagues. And I’m good at it”

 

“Well you can be good at it and not be an asshole at the same time”, Clarke retorts.

 

Lexa tightened her jaw. The time out is over, they’re back to arguing.

 

“There”, Clarke points at her, “You do that thing with your jaw and people know trouble’s coming. God, I can’t believe I thought it was hot before actually meeting you”

 

That captured Lexa’s attention. “What?”

 

“Don’t fish for compliments Lexa, it doesn’t suit you”. Clarke stands up to go to the kitchen, mumbling something about bringing the dessert, and Lexa can’t do anything but stare at the chair where Clarke was seated.

 

_Did Clarke really just admit she liked her?_

 

The blonde comes out a second later with the tiramisu and two small plates. The flame of the candle moves slightly when Clarke passes her a slice of tiramisu. “Here, even if you don’t deserve it”

 

She has already started eating, enjoying the sweet taste of her favourite dessert, but takes a second to look at Clarke. “Even if I cooked the dinner I won?”

 

Clarke stared at her, exasperated. “About that...who the fuck knows that squids have only two tentacles?”, she sounds angry and Lexa can only look at her unimpressed.

 

“I like documentaries”, is all she can say, shy to admit such a nerdy thing. “They’re relaxing”.

 

A hand comes to her chin and Lexa barely sees it, before feeling the soft touch of one finger on her lip. It rubs a little and Clarke shows her some chocolate powder on it.

 

“I must say, I didn’t think you’d actually come here”, the blonde comments.

 

Lexa looks at her: one minute she is aggressive, the other she admits she finds her hot, then surprises her with such an unexpected tender gesture. “I actually gave you a way out, which you refused. It would have been impolite not to show up when invited”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes and serves both of them some more wine. “One day you’ll die of politeness, Lexa”

 

Lexa sips it, just to find something to do. “Did you like the tiramisu?”

 

“Yes, it was delicious. I’m impressed: you’d make a perfect date, miss Woods”, Clarke jokes, and Lexa feels the need to make her smile again.

 

“You bet I would. Speaking of which, I hope this forced dinner didn’t distract you from other real dates”. Lexa knows she’s fishing, she’s also pretty sure Clarke is aware of her lame attempt to get to know her relationship status. But the brush over her lip is still burning, it’s snowing outside and there’s a candle on the table. And Lexa’s finding it hard not to stare into Clarke’s blue eyes and feel like maybe her fishing is not entirely unwanted.

 

“No, I was perfectly free to cook you uneatable chicken”

 

Lexa thinks she sees a mischievous glint in her eyes and decides to be bold. She just stands up, brushing against Clarke elbow on the table and bends towards her. She thinks she sees Clarke hold her breath and smirks, before collecting her empty plate and moving to the kitchen. “Speaking of chicken, we have to wash dishes”

 

Lexa has just put all of the dirty dishes in the sink as if she’s in her own kitchen, when Clarke reaches for her. She’s still barefoot: without her heels, her and Clarke are about the same height.

 

“I wash, you dry?”, she asks, before passing Clarke a cloth.

 

Clarke silently comes near her, choosing to stand close enough that their arms brush every time they move.

 

“Why did you treat me like that when we met?”

 

Clarke’s question comes out of nowhere and Lexa is not particularly surprised. She remembers the first time she met Clarke: the blonde, beautiful new associate that came from California ad had all the partners enchanted by the second she entered the firm. At that time, she was on her second year as associate and was working on one of the most important cases in the office butJaha, one of the partners, decided that the daughter of his good friend Jake immediately deserved a chance to prove herself.

 

“Remember the Arterton case?”

 

“The first one I worked on?”

 

“Mh...You did a good job with it”, she says, before adding “It was mine first. Before Jaha gave it to you”

 

“You were mean to me for this entire year because they took a case from you?”

 

Lexa closes the water and proceeds to wipe her hands, now red from the warm water. “I wasn’t mean, just professional. That case meant a lot to me and it was my way to prove I was ready to move to the next level”, she doesn’t indulge in too much explanations, not particularly keen to revive that period of her professional life. “Besides, I’m not good at making small talk at the coffee machine”

 

“So you didn’t like me from the start?”

 

“I liked you, Clarke”, and it’s the most difficult admission Lexa’s ready to do. How could she not like Clarke Griffin? She’s just not the type to step in line to praise compliments to the diva of the firm. “I’m just aware that we come from different words”

 

“And now?”

 

Lexa chuckles, “Now who’s fishing?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, throwing the cloth on the counter and moves to the living room again. “Do you want something stronger than wine?”, she doesn’t wait for an answer and serves herself a glass of whiskey, sitting on the couch with her feet under her knees.

 

She looks cosy and Lexa savours the idea of sitting next to her, continuing their conversation. She could do it, but she remembers how the night started and doesn’t fool herself into thinking that there’s something more than some subtle flirting. With good wine and decent dinner everybody is keen of loosen up a bit, even her.

 

“Don’t you think I overstayed my welcome?”

 

She’s aware of the confused expression on Clarke’s face, but moves to put her shoes on.

 

“What is it with you that makes you step back as soon as you open up a bit?”, Clarke’s eyes are fixed on her, challenging her to answer and losing every last bit of pretense that the night hasn’t turned into something different from a simple bet.

 

Lexa crosses her arms, not moving one bit. She can’t believe the same Clarke Griffin with whom she couldn’t have a simple conversation not more that three days ago is now basically daring her to make a move.

 

“And what is stopping you to take another step, miss Griffin?”

 

Lexa sees Clarke’s eyes move from her face to something above her. The next thing she knows, the blonde has left the glass and is now moving closer, slowly, with her eyes fixed on her lips.

 

Clarke looks at her before leaning and Lexa tilts her head, closing the distance.

 

The kiss is soft, pressure almost absent, and Lexa feels Clarke’s lips move on her own, waiting for her to reciprocate.

 

It is really happening: Clarke Griffin is kissing her, one of her delicate hands is now on her cheek and she can’t refrain herself any longer. She pillows Clarke’s bottom lip between hers, increasing the pressure and leaning into the next kiss.

 

Her arms circle Clarke’s waist and the blonde melts against her, letting her tongue swipe across Lexa’s lip. They reach out for each other, Lexa’s hand slips under Clarke’s cardigan to smooth the skin of her back, while Clarke circles her neck with both arms.

 

They separate, breaking the kiss but not letting go. Clarke leans again, brushing her lips on the lobe of Lexa’s ear. “Mistletoe”

 

Lexa looks up and smiles.

 

“Always making up excuses”, whispers on her lips, before capturing them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!  
> I hope you liked this small story and - if you did - I'm planning to write a second chapter form Clarke's point of view. I apologize for any mistakes: I didn't bother my beta with this small story, but in time I hope to correct them (when found).
> 
> In the meantime: my other story, "The trick is to keep breathing" is absolutely going to be completed, so don't give up on it, I'm certainly not!
> 
> Thank you as always


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